


A Good Son

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the last thing Sirius wanted to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Son

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

He had tried so hard to run. To hide. To be someone else. He wanted to be like James. To be a Potter. A noble and kind family of wizards. Maybe that's why they were so close. Sirius took his cues from James on what a man should be, and he made James his family to get away from the darkness of his own. He hated his name. Black. It spoke of darkness. Something he would ruefully joke his family knew a thing or two about. And it was the colour of his skin after his mother was through letting him know just how much of a disappointment he was. Black was emptiness. It was a void. It was the emptiness he felt inside himself. That nothingness where a sense of love and security normally resided in a child. After he sent Snape to the Shrieking Shack he had sat before Dumbledore awaiting his punishment. Dumbledore looked tired and trouble as he watched Sirius over the wire rims of his glasses and asked him why? Why he had been so unimaginably cruel? Sirius could not meet his eyes. He sat more still than the headmaster had ever seen him as his eyes stared off into nothingness. Those eyes were dead. When he finally answered, his voice came low and expressionless. "Not cruel... just Black."

And that's how it had always been. He could never run away from who he was. The cruelty of his family was always present in him. He was ashamed of it. Ashamed that they thought they were better than others. Ashamed he sometimes thought it too. Ashamed of the son they wanted him to be. More ashamed that there was a part of him who wanted to be that good son. He had remembered the night he had finally had enough. His brother had already made the allegiance with the Death Eaters that would mean his eventual death. They recruited young. The young and stupid, like his brother, Regulus. The golden boy. The success story. The good son. And he, Sirius, knew he could no longer be a part of that household. He could no longer pretend that his family were anything short of monsters. His father had given him two things upon his departure: a sharp slap across the face, and a warning to never come back. His mother just watched him go with an expression of utter disgust.

And that night he paced alone in his darkened apartment. The power had yet to be turned on. His thoughts moved like shadows through the dark, undefined and all consuming. And as he paced away the night, he smoked, a habit he didn't normally indulge. But that night he did, allowing the smoke to dance before him with malevolent glee. He coughed as his lungs protested indignantly, but Sirius just took another drag. He wanted something tangible. He wanted to see himself breath... just to know he was still alive, because he didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything.

When the knock on the door ripped him from his reveries he was uncertain whether he should hug or punch the source of this momentary distraction. When he saw it was Remus his shoulder slumped in relief and all he could manage was a weak and tired "hi". He moved inside, a silent invitation for Remus to enter. But he just stood in the entrance waiting. Considering.

Upon realising his friend had not yet entered, Sirius stopped his resumed pacing and finally met the eyes of his friend. He made a move as if to speak, then thought better of it. Remus was sizing him up. and it was obvious he had something to say, so Sirius stood waiting in the shadows, a long pillar of ashes forming on the end of his cigarette, marking away the passing seconds. Finally, Remus had spoken.

"I know what it is to hate yourself, Sirius. I know what it is to live with the guilt of who you are. To never be able to escape who you were born to be... or in our cases, who we were made to be at a very young age. To struggle against that. Fighting to be good. Losing some of those battles. I know what it is to be lonely..." He paused as he struggled to finish what he had come to say. "Do you ever want to stop? Sirius? Do you just want the loneliness to stop?"

With that he took a tentative step into the apartment where he stood impassive and unabashed under Sirius' appraising stare. For his part, Sirius did not speak a word. He walked slowly and deliberately past Remus who lowered his gaze to the floor once the taller man had passed. Turned to make what he hoped wasn't too awkward an exit, only to see Sirius gently closing the door, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Yes. Sirius wanted it to stop.

And so, that was them. Sirius and Remus. Fighting to be something good. Losing some battles. Their life together was never perfect. Their trust was never perfect. And when it came to protecting James, Lily and Harry, Sirius was determined to do the right thing. The best thing he knew how. It was a battle he couldn't afford to lose. Not even if it cost him Remus. Not even if it cost him everything.

And it did. It cost him everything. There was a crowd gathered round when the Aurors finally managed to drag him away. And among the faces he saw his mother. She was watching from among the masses as what was now her only son being was being hauled away to a place that was nothing short of hell. And he saw something play on her lips -- a smirk. A smile. Sirius thought it cold even for the horrid old bitch to be happy about his being locked away for life. But then he realised what it was. That it was not joy. No. It was pride. Pride in her son, Sirius Black. Right hand man to Voldemort himself. And he laughed. He laughed desperate and insanely, trying to will it all a dream. But he could not. Because it was not a dream -- it was a nightmare. And so he laughed with the painful knowledge of what he was. What he never wanted to be. What he had finally become...

a good son.


End file.
